Page 54

F ire licked up my side, each heartbeat pumping greater agony straight to the wound. The Lumen kept me breathing, but barely. I could feel it straining to keep me stitched together. I lay there blinking up at the ceiling, more corpse than girl.

They had returned me to my room with a cold reminder that tomorrow morning was Sunday. The day of the Rift, the day I would Fall. The day we all would. The High King was rising, unchallenged. The Archangels were still sealed in the deck, unreachable, the only power that could stop him.

A sob ripped through me. Was Dorian dead? Surely Verrine wouldn’t let Dante kill him, but I didn’t know anymore. My heart thumped frantically in my ears. No. No, I couldn’t just sit here. I couldn’t just wait for them to come for me.

I still didn’t understand why they needed me to Fall.

I shuddered at the memory of vision in the library.

The High King and Verrine had been in my room.

They’d acted like there was something significant about me choosing a side.

Had my mother given me up because she anticipated this?

That there was something wrong with me ?

I forced myself upright to stop the shaking, but it was entirely unhelpful.

The room spun. I staggered to the window, ripping open the curtain , only to find brick.

Of course. We were underground. I choked on a cry, slamming my fists against it.

Over and over and over. The reflected darkness blurred with tears.

My reflection wavered, spectral, like I was already halfway gone. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair.

The fight drained from me. I caught the bedframe, knees buckling, and collapsed into the sheets again. I needed to stop spiralling. My mother hadn’t known me when she’d given me up.

I curled onto my side, gripping the blanket, but my hands found something else instead. Laid across the foot of the bed was a gown. Black as the void, dripping in dark jewels, woven with thread that shimmered like dying stars. They expected me to wear this for the Rift.

An unhinged laugh broke from my lips. My head tilted back against the pillows, my lungs tight with something close to hysteria.

What a mockery this was. It felt like they were conducting a stage production, my role already chosen.

I curled in on myself, gripping tight to the dress like it could absorb my anger as my mind frayed at the edges.

I had never been so alone, so powerless.

The lucky ones would Fall tomorrow. But most, the hopefuls who dreamed of Angelhood, whose scores hovered just above the cut, would vanish.

They wouldn’t Fall, or Ascend, just… disappear.

The balance of light and dark would be altered forever, whatever that meant.

The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, the scent of smoke curling through the air. It was too peaceful here, the kind of stillness that came before everything was wrenched apart.

I shut my eyes, breathing shallowly. You were never meant to Ascend.

Never meant to Fall. Never meant to exist at all.

The haunting rhyme the ghost-girl had sung echoed through me.

Maybe that’s why I survived so long. I was never supposed to exist in the first place, and fate couldn’t find the things it didn’t create.

I swallowed hard. There was a noise at the door, a shadow. My heart skipped a beat and I forced myself upright, muscles screaming from exhaustion and the healing wound. Footsteps sounded against the marble floor but the knock never came.

“ Arabella .” My name wove through my mind, and with it the feeling of deep sorrow. Dante. A quiet war raged inside my chest, my heart betraying me with its too-fast pounding, its desperate, clawing need to hold onto something that had already been lost.

He wasn’t here to save me. He hated me for betraying him, and he had already made his choice. The wood creaked. I could picture it too clearly, his palm pressed flat against it, jaw tight with something unsaid. He wanted to come inside, to see me. I felt it.

Finally, he spoke again, aloud this time. “I didn’t want it to end this way.”

I tilted my head back against the cold stone wall, squeezing my eyes shut. “You let this happen. All of this. ” My hands shook as I asked, “Is he dead? Is Dorian dead?”

He paused, and I could feel his hesitation. Then, quieter, “No. Not yet.”

Relief slammed into me, too quickly dampened to feel good. He was alive. For now. I let out a shaking breath, the reassurance settling into a splintering ache. “Why are you doing this?”

“I have to,” Dante breathed. “You have to Fall, Arabella. It’s the only way.”

Even now, my body betrayed me, cheeks flushing despite everything. “Then why are you here?”

Silence. I imagined Dante’s fingers flexing against the wood, caught in some silent war. For one wild second, I thought he might do it. I sent a whisper down the Thread, hoping he might hear it.

He’ll open the door.

He’ll let me go.

But he didn’t. His next words bled out like a confession. “There’s something they aren’t telling you. And I don’t want you to find out the hard way.”

Great. Another bit of privileged information he hadn’t shared. He didn’t want me to hate him, now, but he wasn’t brave enough to stop this either. Secrets were a fair middle ground for him now I had nowhere left to run.

A second set of lighter footsteps sounded. Verrine’s voice slipped through the darkness on the other side of the door, clipped. “Dante. The guards are scrying with your father in the throne room. He’s requested you.”

The silence grew thick and suffocating, pressing into me like a second heartbeat. I didn’t move. I didn’t hear footsteps. For a moment, one fragile, teetering moment, I thought he might stay.

But then, slowly, the charged weight of his presence began to fade. The shadows beyond the door swallowed him whole, and just like that, he was gone.

Verrine hummed, satisfied. She rattled the doorknob, unbolting the locks, and stepped inside. “Come, Miss Davenant. Let’s take a walk.” Dante was regent, but until he was crowned it was clear Verrine still held some power.

I rose, grateful to be anywhere but that room.

We paced side by side through corridors carved from black stone, each one narrowing in around me.

Verrine walked at an easy, unbothered pace, like we were two old friends out for a stroll rather than prisoner and captor.

I could feel it beneath the surface. The calculation, the performance of it all.

She was being too nice, which meant she wanted something .

“Have you noticed how quiet it is?” she finally said, her voice smooth. “Most students never see this part of the Sanctum. They don’t realize how much of Evermore is built on this, on silence.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t trust myself to.

She glanced at me, lips twitching into a knowing smile. “You don’t like silence, do you, Miss Davenant?”

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure why that sentence hit the way it did; maybe because she knew the answer. I didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. The quiet turned my thoughts to static. Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “It’s suffocating.”

Verrine let out a disappointed sigh. “You’re afraid.”

I forced myself to scoff. “I’m not afraid to Fall.”

“Of the truth.” The walls of the corridor seemed to press inward.

“You want to run away,” she said plainly.

“Because it’s easier than accepting what you’ve always known deep down.

” Her head tilted slightly, watching me the way a cat watches a wounded bird.

“But Arabella you never had a choice between Ascending and Falling. Not really.”

My jaw locked. “And the others?

She smiled, slow and knowing. “You think this is a crime, that we are evil. We are allowing every Upper Sixth in this graduating class to enter Elsewhere. Under the regulation of the Archangels, only twelve of the lowest scoring students would be permitted entry. Now, the doors to Elsewhere are open wide. Everyone who graduates all goes through. We are saving souls.”

Ice slid through my veins. She dared pretend this was charity? “They will all rank then,” I pressed. I couldn’t see how that was possible. “They’ll all become High Daemons? Not wraiths, not lesser beings?”

“We can’t work miracles.” Verrine let out a breathy laugh.

“Not everyone here is exceptional enough for that. But at least their souls will survive in some form or another.” Verrine faced me, her narrowed gaze softening.

There was no mockery in her expression, just something like tenderness. “You on the other hand, are.”

“I promise that’s not true.” My throat burned. “And the Lower Sixth? Ruby?” I asked, the words strained.

Verrine stepped closer. “She’s been out of rank for the last week, Arabella. Her score is one of our weakest. It’s unlikely she will survive being marked. There is nothing we can do about that.”

My knees wobbled beneath me, the room spinning.

“Don’t worry. You’re different. Wrong in all the right ways. Just like Dante,” Verrine was saying, her cold hands gripping my shoulders to steady me. “If you fall this Rift and join the High King’s court after graduation, you will find a home there. People just like you. Exceptional people.”

There it was again, that word she loved so much. Exceptional. Bile rose in my throat at the thought.

“Just think about it,” Verrine purred, stepping back.

I was about to respond when a set of guards rushed toward us, their faces contorted with panic.

“Gentlemen,” Verrine smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The guard gulped. His voice was steady, but I saw the hesitation in his stance, the way his fingers twitched against the hilt of his blade. “The High King—” He faltered. “He's here. Early .”

A slow ripple of silence passed through the room. Even the candlelight flickered like the chamber itself had felt the weight of those words. Verrine did not flinch, she did not frown. Her fingers twitched. Just once.

“So soon?” she pressed. “He wasn’t due until tomorrow morning. Is that all?”

“No.” The guard hesitated. Just for a moment. Then, quickly, like the words burned the tongue, “Aranyas called him. Godwin Cavendish is dead. The cards were found beside him. Blood-soaked.”

The gasp was trapped in my throat, every muscle rigid.

Verrine didn't move, but something terrifying passed across her face. It didn’t look angry or upset, but it also didn’t look like relief.

She inhaled once slowly, steadying herself sealing away any trace of whatever emotion had just slipped through the cracks.

“And where are the cards now?” Her voice was neutral again. Careful.

The guard dipped his head. “They were recovered. They are with the High King.”

“Good.” There was a pause, one single, razor-thin breath. I knew I would feel the wrath of it. Whatever warmth had been in her voice before, whatever careful persuasion she had attempted, was gone. She turned to me this time.

“The High King will see her now.”